


picture literacy

by vitasoy (lunawhy)



Category: UNINE (Band), UNIQ (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV), 青春有你 | Qing Chun You Ni
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, a sort of slow burn, heavier on the angst though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 07:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18426261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunawhy/pseuds/vitasoy
Summary: “He’ll become much more physically affectionate. I guess it’s his way of opening up since he doesn’t like to talk a lot.”Yeah, that sounds about right,Wenhan thinks to himself before forcing his mind to switch subjects. He shouldn’t be analyzing Chunyang out loud, let aloneright at the momentwhen he’s sitting in front of a camera and a woman he only knows as “Director Li”. He has to blink and sweep those thoughts away, or else he knows he’s going to end up micro-analyzing into the microphone attached to the collar of his crewneck.





	picture literacy

**Author's Note:**

> as a disclaimer i know nothing about music production and that was definitely not what i studied in university

“The thing is, when you get close to him…” Wenhan stops for a moment. He doesn’t really need to think any more on the next words he’s going to say, but all the emotions that come with them start flooding into his head, and all the memories and sensations that he associates with them flash in front of his eyes too.

“He’ll become much more physically affectionate. I guess it’s his way of opening up since he doesn’t like to talk a lot.”

 _Yeah, that sounds about right,_ Wenhan thinks to himself before forcing his mind to switch subjects. He shouldn’t be analyzing Chunyang out loud, let alone _right at the moment_ when he’s sitting in front of a camera and a woman he only knows as “Director Li”. He has to blink and sweep those thoughts away, or else he knows he’s going to end up micro-analyzing into the microphone attached to the collar of his crewneck.

Wenhan briefly glances at his lap. He doesn’t remember the rest of what he talks about, and when he stumbles back into the practice room, somewhere along his path to the mirrors a pair of arms slide around his waist.

A face props its chin up on his shoulder, and it’s an automatic reaction of his to smile.

* * *

“This is dumb,” he hears Wenxuan mutter under his breath. It’s about the third time he’s said that so far, and it’s about the third time his complaint has reached deaf ears.

Wenhan doesn’t even need to be here. He has no purpose being here, actually. There’d been little for him to do the past several days--no, more like the past several _weeks_ \--and it was only out of pure curiosity did he pop by a practice room that wasn’t empty.

On one of the rare days Meiqi was able to show her face in the main building, she’d absentmindedly slipped the newest bit of company gossip to Wenhan while idly stirring the coffee she grabbed from the lobby counter.

“Two of them,” she mentioned, “have you met either of them before?”

Wenhan shook his head. “I didn’t even know.”

Meiqi laughed. “You’re here way more often than me and you haven’t run into either of them? No one has told you either? Han-ge, one of them’s been here for weeks already, maybe even months.”

“Oh…” Wenhan bit his lip and shook his head again. If a new face shows up, it’s common for him to assume they’re just another employee he’s unfamiliar with.

It's his own obliviousness and consequent curiosity that's at fault -- and that’s what led him here. No one told him to be here, no one told him to even care, but here he is anyway.

“Your knee, here. The left one.” Wenhan points. “At the same time you rotate and bend, step forward with your other foot -- your right foot.” He glances up, first at his own reflection in the mirror, and then at the face of the boy he’s squatting next to.

“I… uh--” The boy pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, raising his arms and taking a hesitant step forward.

Wenhan stands up and changes position so he stands right in front of the boy. He stares at the boy’s feet, arms crossed, before squatting back down.

“Bend,” he says. “Okay, then this knee--” Wenhan reaches out, placing an index finger on the boy’s left knee and applying light pressure, “--rotate it. And then, at the same time--” His other hand extends out, but stops right before grabbing the boy’s right ankle. “Uh--”

Wenhan swallows, anxious for a bare second. “Hey,” he says, and when he looks up, he meets the unreadable stare of the boy gazing down at him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Wenhan’s hand wraps around the boy’s ankle, tugging slightly. “Just one step.”

His hands let go, and he falls back to sit on the floor and scoots backwards.

“Just like that. One step, that’s all. Combine those two movements. Don’t think about it too hard, just go slowly.” Wenhan nods, eyes fixed on the pair of legs in front of him.

“Just one step, Chunyang.”

* * *

“There’s really not much you can do besides practice. Just take what the vocal instructor says and apply it. Try your best and practice. That’s…” Wenhan trails off, thinking. How can he put his words to convey what he means but at the same time not sound discouraging? He glances at his hands. “...That’s basically almost everything you can do. Sing whenever you can. Singing isn’t anything like math or chemistry, there are no shortcuts to get you results.”

“I’m balls at math and science, anyways,” Chunyang mutters, a half-developed smile on his face.

“Oh?” Wenhan replies. He crosses his legs. The TV remote sits in his lap, and he contemplates if he should just turn it off. Whatever’s playing isn’t interesting, and saving electricity is never a bad idea. “First year of university for you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s fun. You get to skip math and science classes if you want. For the most part, at least.”

“Are you good at math and science, then?”

Wenhan shrugs. “My test scores were okay,” he murmurs. In reality, they were mediocre to terrible, but he's a little too prideful to admit it. Subconsciously, his mind changes the subject. Yeah, he’s definitely turning off the TV. It’s not like he even pays the electricity bill, but he still feels bad. “But I didn’t take many of those classes.”

“What’d you do in university, then?”

“Music composition.”

“Oh. Huh.” Chunyang pauses. Wenhan glances at him from the side, watching him run the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. It’s like he’s trying to think hard of something to say, and the silence is making Wenhan a bit nervous. He could just leave, because once again, he doesn’t have to be here, no one told him to be here, but here he is anyway.

“That makes sense.”

“Yeah, doesn’t it?” It actually doesn't, or at least didn't at first.

“I haven’t decided a major yet. Maybe I’ll do something music-related too.”

“Just do it if that’s what you really want to. Don’t let whatever I say influence you too much, but, you know, composition is fun. Do you know anything about making music?”

Chunyang shakes his head. “Nothing,” he replies.

“If you choose it I could help you with your homework,” Wenhan jokes, trying to ease some of his own awkwardness, “like, if that’s really the path you end up going down.”

Chunyang’s only response is a sigh. He leans back, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a little early to think about, right? Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for offering anyway.” Chunyang hums and glances up at Wenhan. “Would you help me with math and science too, then?”

“Ah, well--”

“I’m joking.” It’s then that the corners of Chunyang’s eyes crinkle slightly, and a sheepish smile forms on his lips. “I’d never do that to myself.” He pauses, and Wenhan is speechless, unsure what to say. “You looked so worried when I said that.”

“I--” Wenhan begins, stuttering. “Nevermind.” He sighs, turning away and closing his eyes briefly, only opening them when he realizes the TV still hasn’t been turned off.

Chunyang is gone when Wenhan looks around. He slipped away completely unnoticed.

Wenhan could definitely leave now since the conversation is done, but he remains sitting on that couch, dumb and still and maybe he will actually watch what’s on the TV now.

* * *

They’re in Shanghai now. Wenhan was surprised when he was told he wouldn’t be taking the trip himself. He has purpose to be up here since he’s supposed to be meeting some potential client, but Chunyang? Wenhan consciously wonders why, but he is never brave enough to ask.

Chunyang is on the balcony right now, staring down at the city below his feet. This is only the third time he’s ever seen Shanghai, he told Wenhan.

“What’s up?” Wenhan says, opening the sliding door to let himself onto the balcony. “What’re you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Chunyang replies absentmindedly. “We’re so high up. It kinda feels like I can touch the city with my fingertips.”

The corners of Wenhan’s lips curl up into a smile at hearing Chunyang’s words. “Really,” Wenhan replies. He remembers that the last time he was here, he had no time to lean over the balcony railing and stare at the city below him.

Chunyang is right, Wenhan realizes, when he steps forward and looks down, torso pressed against his knuckles, gripping the railing so intensely that his knuckles have whitened. The cars on the streets below are lined up bumper-to-bumper. There’s people making their way up and down the sidewalk. Bicyclists pass by ever so often, some of them even brave enough to swerve in and out of the lanes of cars. The city at this time is busy, Wenhan knows, and if he were standing on the sidewalk, it’d look like just another chaotic city scene to him. However, from up here, somehow it’s become organized, building upon building and car upon car stacked and fitted together like bricks.

“This is my third time in Shanghai, but my first time looking at it from this high up,” Chunyang vaguely comments.

“Actually, same,” Wenhan says. It slips out of his mouth without him thinking.

“Huh? Aren’t you here a lot though?”

Wenhan corrects himself. “Oh-- no, I mean, this is my first time looking at it from this high up too.”

“Really?” Chunyang’s brow furrows. “But how… I thought that you always--” He stops mid-sentence, a look of thought passing over his face.

Wenhan can only guess what he was about to say. “Yeah. Surprising, right?” He turns his head to look back down at the city. To him, it feels like the short time he wasn’t looking only lasted a blink, but the change in the streets down below make him think much more time has passed. The cars are now ambling down the road, no longer at a stand-still, and the passersby have dispersed from the sidewalks.

Chunyang disappears back into the hotel room. Wenhan watches him curiously. He returns with their jackets. When Wenhan puts his jacket on, he zips it all the way up, fingers curled over the collar and pulling it up. He can feel his own breath warming the lower portion of his face. From the corner of his eye, he sees Chunyang turn to face him.

Wenhan meets his gaze. The collar of his jacket is pulled up too, so Wenhan can’t see his mouth. He can’t tell what Chunyang is feeling or thinking, and he looks generically blank as usual.

Chunyang blinks once, slowly. The gleam in his eyes catches Wenhan, who can’t help but stare into the gray city daylight that’s reflected in Chunyang’s pupils. It makes it seem like his eyes aren’t in fact a dark brown, but instead a dark hazel.

Wenhan looks away just briefly, and when his gaze returns, he once again sees the day in Chunyang’s eyes. He sees the day in Chunyang’s entire expression, actually. Chunyang is no longer blank, but ambient. He comes along, riding with whatever the day brings, exactly like the city.

…

Wenhan forgot his toothpaste at home. He needs to go to the drugstore, and Chunyang tags along. They’re putting on their coats and scarves. It’s spring, but the wind is still bitter.

“Shouldn’t you wrap it higher?” Chunyang asks, curious.

“Why?” Wenhan replies, tucking his scarf through a loop.

“What if people recognize you?”

“Really?” Wenhan asks, almost incredulously. He winces the moment after, realizing that his tone had been a bit too intense, and Chunyang looks momentarily surprised. “I don’t think that’ll happen is what I mean,” Wenhan clarifies.

“Your face is in some commercials and movies and stuff, right? Someone could recognize you,” Chunyang pushes back. “I don’t want them to give us trouble.”

“I’ll cover my face if you’re worried.” Wenhan’s already unwrapping the nice loop he’s made with his scarf, not giving Chunyang a chance to reply. “I guess you’re right, but I just don’t expect anything to happen. I go out all the time and people mostly don’t give me a second glance.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There’s an aching silence as Wenhan re-wraps his scarf, this time arranging it so that it covers part of his face. He’s probably going to be a bit overheated going outside like this. “Let’s go,” he says a minute later, voice slightly muffled.

…

They’ve got way more in the shopping basket than toothpaste. Wenhan didn’t even need to grab a basket, but it was automatic of him to do so. In the basket is lip balm, shampoo, bandaids, rubbing alcohol, and a pack of fruit snacks along with the originally intended toothpaste. He usually never gets distracted while shopping, but Chunyang is toting him around the store like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal. Chunyang will disappear down an aisle while Wenhan is debating lip balm flavors, and next thing he knows, chips are being slipped into the basket and Wenhan now has to debate if salt and vinegar really is the best choice.

Chunyang takes him to the cosmetics section. There’s rows of testers on both sides down the aisle, all in various states of distress. “What do you think about this color?” Chunyang holds up his hand. What appears to be a swatch of lipstick is drawn across his palm.

“Uh, it’s pink,” Wenhan says. He really can’t tell anything else.

“Then this one?” Chunyang grabs a lipstick tester next to him, running it over the corner of his palm before holding his hand out for Wenhan to see.

“It’s a darker pink?”

“Very unhelpful, Han-ge.” Chunyang sniffs, putting the tester away. Wenhan is about to take mock offense, but Chunyang has already moved on to somewhere further down the aisle.

There’s a row of perfumes, and Chunyang painstakingly sprays each one at least once and holds out his arm for Wenhan to smell every single time even though all the commentary Wenhan can provide is “too strong” or “too sweet” or “smells exactly like the one before it”. Wenhan sneezes a solid five or six times too, and his sinuses feel like they’re going to collapse in on themselves by the time Chunyang is at the last fragrance.

Chunyang wants to look at the hair accessories next. He takes his time picking out a wooden clip with a white fabric orchid superglued onto it before clipping it onto his bangs and jokingly asking Wenhan how he looks.

“It’s pretty,” Wenhan absentmindedly says. The three rhinestones in the center of the flower sparkle when Chunyang moves his head. “Do you want it?” he asks without thinking.

“It’s okay,” Chunyang replies, reaching up to take the clip out of his hair. He puts it back on its display. “Maybe next time,” he jokes.

Wenhan rolls his eyes. “Are we done here?” he asks, looking down at the shopping basket hanging from his arm. This is way more than toothpaste, and he feels a bit regretful, but it’s already too late.

“Yes,” Chunyang responds. He tucks his hands into his coat pockets. “We can checkout now.”

* * *

They don’t really talk about Shanghai. Meiqi asks Wenhan about the trip when he arrives back in Beijing.

“Good,” he says.

“‘Good’ as in they want your face for their juice brand or ‘good’ as in ‘whatever’?” Meiqi prods, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really either. Just ‘good’, I guess.” Wenhan shrugs. He brings his cup of coffee up to his lips and winces when he takes a sip. No one understands why Meiqi can just down the lobby counter coffee like it’s water.

“How’s Chunyang? You finally know his name and face yet?” Meiqi jokes, giggling.

Wenhan sighs, taking another sip of coffee. Bitter. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this to himself. Maybe it’s just because the cup just happens to be in his hand and he has nothing else to do besides stand there and drink.

“He’s okay. He liked Shanghai, I think. Although he just kinda slept through half of it.”

“Cute. Didn’t take him sightseeing?”

“What is there to see?” Wenhan turns away. He just wants to go add more creamer and sugar to his coffee, but he also wants to run away from Meiqi’s interrogation.

“You ask me, you’re the one that travels there the most out of most of us.” Meiqi’s following him, keeping pace with Wenhan’s steps perfectly, as usual. It’s simultaneously her most useful and annoying trait.

“Travell _ed_ there the most.” Wenhan sighs, jamming down the pump on the creamer dispenser.

“Whatever. As long as both of you had fun, that’s what matters,” Meiqi hums, tapping a fingernail on the side of her cup. “I’ve gotta run now. Hairdresser appointment in an hour.”

“Have fun.” Wenhan waves her off half-heartedly with a hand.

“I’ll send you photos!” Meiqi’s smile as she walks away is cheery, airy, and Wenhan tries to think about the last time he could smile that wide just saying goodbye to someone.

He stands there, mind blank, palm hovering over the creamer dispenser pump until someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Was that Meng Meiqi?”

“H-Huh?” Wenhan blinks rapidly, He turns his head to meet the eyes of the person that’d tapped him. “Oh, yes.”

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Chunyang comments. He stares at the front door that Meiqi had disappeared through just minutes ago.

“I guess we are,” Wenhan hums.

“‘I guess’?” Chunyang asks.

“She talks a lot. I listen a lot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Exactly how much creamer are you going to put in there? I know the coffee is bad, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Wenhan looks down into his cup, and he realizes that his coffee is now a very pretty light tan color. It probably tastes even worse now, but he brings it up to his lips anyways.

“I bet you that’s like 90% creamer, you know. How’s it taste?”

Wenhan winces. “Disgusting,” he replies, voice gurgled. He drinks the rest of it before semi-aggressively throwing the cup into the recycling.

* * *

It’s another one of those days where Wenhan doesn’t need to be anywhere in particular. He probably could spend his day on the couch and no one would bother him about it. Maybe he wants to do that, maybe he doesn’t, he’s not too sure, but he is sitting on a couch right now, and the TV is running again with something he doesn’t care to watch.

“You come here a lot,” Chunyang comments, stuffing a chip in his mouth. It’s salt and vinegar flavored.

“I hope you’re not getting tired of seeing dear Han-ge’s face,” Wenhan snorts.

“In fact, I am,” Chunyang replies. “Want a chip?” He holds out the bag for Wenhan.

“You tell me you’re tired of seeing me and then offer me food?” Wenhan squints. “That doesn’t make sense, Chunyang.”

“I’m joking.” Chunyang jabs the chip bag at Wenhan, and Wenhan reluctantly reaches inside. “If I ever get tired of seeing your face, I wouldn’t offer you food.”

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” Chunyang laughs at Wenhan’s fake annoyance.

“Really, you come here a lot now. Don’t you have more exciting things to do?”

Wenhan shakes his head, staring at his hands in his lap. “No,” he replies simply.

“I thought since you’ve already debuted for a long time, they’d have things for you to do every day.” Chunyang blinks in thought. “Like, not make music all the time, but photoshoots and stuff like that too.”

Wenhan slowly shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he says quietly. “At least, not anymore.”

“R-Really?” Chunyang’s voice has become slightly hesitant, almost nervous, like he feels like he’s treading into unknown territory. He kind of is, Wenhan thinks, because they’re approaching a topic he never talks about out loud. “Didn’t you, ah, do a TV drama pretty recently?”

“Yeah, but that’s done filming.”

“Do they have another one for you?”

“Probably, I don’t know.”

“Do you like acting, then?”

“It’s okay.”

“So that means you don’t like it.”

Wenhan suddenly looks up. “I didn’t say that,” he murmurs.

“If you like it, then you’d want to star in another one, wouldn’t you?” Chunyang prods. He senses the tension in the air and quickly speaks up again. “I know you really like singing and music. You sing a lot outside of the studio. You even did composition in university, I remember you telling me that.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

The silence that succeeds Wenhan’s half-hearted response makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He can’t stare at anything but his hands, body frozen. “I want to sing more,” he whispers, a long several seconds later. His heart is pounding now, and his throat feels like it’s closing in on itself. In the back of his mind, he knows that all he’s been doing the last couple years is just dragging himself from place to place, wherever he needed to be, wherever management _told_ him he needed to be, and more often than not it was a place he didn’t particularly care to be at. He’d just been biting his tongue, keeping his own thoughts and desires locked away, because supposedly everything he’d been doing _besides_ making music was helping to further his career.

But it all tastes stale to him now -- it had been stale for a very, very, very long time, in fact. Nobody until now had ever touched upon the topic with him, not even his own bandmates even though he is sure that they feel the same way. And right here, right now, Chunyang doesn’t know Wenhan that deeply, that thoroughly, he just knows surface-level Wenhan that worries about wasting water, puts too much creamer in his coffee, and always gets tugged along into others’ antics, but he didn’t even need to ask that much to figure out this part of Wenhan.

Wenhan likes to think it’s difficult to figure out this part of him, but it’s actually not. Someone just needs to ask the right questions and say the right things, and apparently Chunyang did.

“Sing now,” Chunyang says suddenly. He sets aside his bag of chips and scoots closer to Wenhan, staring at him intensely. “You’re a good singer. I like your voice.”

“It’s not the s-same,” Wenhan replies, shakily, crossing his arms. “It’s not--”

“I’m your fan,” Chunyang interrupts, quietly, and he’s placing his hand on Wenhan’s forearm gently, leaning forward and against Wenhan. “If you want an audience, I’ll be your audience if you’ll just let me.”

“I--” Wenhan lifts his head and the first thing he sees is Chunyang’s eyes fixated on him, all serious and firm, very unlike him, but at the same time, somehow befitting him.

In that moment, the first time Wenhan stared closely into Chunyang’s eyes flashes in front of his vision. He remembers the gray skylight in Chunyang’s pupils, and so that’s what he begins to sing about.

Wenhan doesn’t even know what song he’s singing, just something that begins with _the sky_ and ends with _the dawn._

He might as well spend the rest of his day there, all the way until dawn, with his head resting on Chunyang’s shoulder as he whisper-sings into Chunyang’s ear, Chunyang’s hand curled over his arm and eyes closed, relaxed.

* * *

“What do I put down,” Chunyang half-wails into his palms, the pencil he’d been holding falling onto the table with a clatter.

“Well, what would you like to study?” Wenhan asks. He cracks down on another sunflower seed in between his teeth.

“I don’t know, that’s why I don’t know what to put down!” Chunyang’s groans are muffled by his hands.

“You don’t need to know right now, Chunyang,” Wenhan calmly advises. He spits out the sunflower seed shell. “This is just the survey, right? You aren’t required to declare a major until your second or third year.”

“That’s the problem. I’m going into my second year, in case you forgot, and they’re going to recommend me classes based upon how I answer this,” Chunyang murmurs, distraught.

“Choose something you like and something you know you’ll stick to. Like, no math and science. That’s a bad idea.”

“No durr,” Chunyang sniffs. He narrows his eyes at Wenhan, who is onto cracking open another sunflower seed. “Why are you so relaxed?”

“Because this isn’t my survey and I already graduated.” Wenhan smiles, his lips curled up playfully. “Still though, it’s nothing to panic over, I promise.”

“Okay.” Chunyang sniffs again, going back to staring at the paper in front of him.

“You could do general music. Or, maybe vocals. Music composition, dance, an instrument if you play any… or even something not music-related. I heard psychology could be fun--”

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Chunyang interrupts, holding up a hand. “Thanks, Han-ge.”

“Oh?” Wenhan raises an eyebrow. “Decided something so quickly?”

“Definitely not.” The sound of Chunyang's voice is content.

“Huh?”

“But I have a good idea now.” Chunyang laughs, looking at Wenhan across the table. “ You just gotta wait and see.”

“Hm, okay.” Wenhan shrugs, brushing his curiosity off. He can't say much more especially when Chunyang seems to be satisfied with whatever decision he made, so Wenhan reaches inside his bag of sunflower seeds for another handful before sliding the bag to Chunyang. “Take some.”

Chunyang completely ignores the offer. He stands up immediately.

“Wait, where are you going?” Wenhan asks.

“I just gotta go check something,” Chunyang hums. He disappears out the door before Wenhan can ask anything more.

* * *

It’s one of those nights where Wenhan’s place is dead silent. All of the others are out. Yixuan was here earlier that day, but he’d disappeared a couple hours of ago, and Wenhan was left to his own devices yet again.

It’s lonely up until the door opens in the middle of his dinner. He expects it to be Yixuan, who said he’d definitely be back before bedtime, but lo and behold, it’s someone completely different.

“Oh, hi Chunyang,” Wenhan greets, surprised. He sets down his chopsticks. “Why’re you here?”

“I’m just--” Chunyang begins, stopping mid-sentence. He turns his head back and forth as if he were lost and confused. His brows are furrowed, and he bites his lower lip frustratedly.

“What’s wrong?” Now Wenhan’s worried. He immediately stands up, pushing back his chair. “Do you want to talk?”

Chunyang immediately shakes his head. “I’ve just been thinking too hard, that’s it.” He heaves a heavy sigh and stiffly walks over to the couch before collapsing face-first onto it. “So much stuff to do.”

“Stress, huh,” Wenhan murmurs. He gently sits down next to Chunyang, his dinner forgotten. “Lots of homework?”

“Too much.”

“I get it. You’re still adjusting.” Wenhan reaches out, threading his fingers through Chunyang’s hair, and begins to stroke absentmindedly. “If you want to complain to me, you can.”

“There isn’t much to complain about,” Chunyang responds. “My professors just have absolutely no chill.”

“Yeah, some assign a crap load of stuff, don’t they,” Wenhan murmurs, “and it’s hard to keep up.”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re getting there, though, Yangyang. Growing pains and all.”

“It’s already my second year and I still can’t do squat,” Chunyang groans into a sofa cushion. “Bombed an exam, forgot my textbook, and lost my pen.”

“That’s really unfortunate, and I'm sorry to hear that… but look, you’ve survived up until now though, and I'm sure you've lost numerous other pens before,” Wenhan points out, half joking with his tone in order to try to lighten up the mood. “You’ve been doing a great job keeping the balance between your training and your studies too. Just keep on going, keep on striving.”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m trying.” Chunyang turns over so that he is staring up at Wenhan. His bangs hang messily in front of his eyes, and Wenhan brushes them aside, touch gentle. He watches his own hand and remains silent for a moment.

“Were you doing homework before coming here?” he asks.

“Sorta.”

“‘Sorta’?”

Chunyang bites his lip. “It’s… not really my homework,” he says, quietly, looking away, as if he were anxious. Maybe he is, Wenhan thinks, although he doesn’t know what Chunyang could possibly be anxious about.

“Then what is it?”

“Just--” And suddenly Chunyang is sitting himself up and sticking a hand in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a wad of folded papers that make a crumpling noise under his grip. They're creased all over and unorganized, as if Chunyang had been toting them around in his jacket pocket for a while.

“That?”

“Yeah.” Chunyang nods, unfolding them. “Don’t laugh at me, Han-ge. Promise me you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I ever laugh? I don’t even know what that is,” Wenhan points out. Chunyang looks at him, annoyed, and Wenhan laughs softly at Chunyang’s reaction. “I promise,” he replies.

“Okay.” Chunyang clears his throat once, eyes fixated on the paper in front of him.

To Wenhan’s surprise, Chunyang begins to sing. His voice is low, hushed, and shy at first, but as the seconds pass, his voice gains more and more confidence, and Wenhan becomes more and more lost in his voice. The tune is achingly familiar to Wenhan, but he consciously chases that thought away, instead choosing to relax, close his eyes, and absorb the lyrics and the song and how the sound just rolls off of Chunyang’s tongue. Chunyang is singing for him, and Wenhan obviously doesn't know why. He wonders that too, and he wants to ask, but the more important thing to him is to be a good audience and a good friend, just like all those times that Chunyang has calmly listened to him sing with admiration and excitement in his eyes.

Wenhan doesn’t recognize the entirety of the song, however, and the notion about the familiarity of the song comes back to him. Somewhere along the lyrics become unfamiliar and the tune and key change slightly, but it’s still somehow the exact same song -- there’s that underlying feeling, that connection that makes it cohesive, and it only piques Wenhan’s curiosity even more.

When Chunyang finishes singing, Wenhan opens his eyes slowly. “That was great,” he says, a gentle smile on his face.

“Really?” Chunyang replies. He coughs sheepishly, looking away for a moment.

“Yes,” Wenhan affirms. “What song is it? It’s really familiar to me, but I can’t put my finger on a name.”

“It doesn’t have a title,” Chunyang says. “It’s-- um…”

“It doesn’t?” Wenhan asks, confused.

Chunyang remains silent and contemplative for a long pause. Wenhan sits there in confusion, trying to figure out what Chunyang means, and when he arrives at a conclusion, he gasps.

“Wait, so did you write it yourself?” he asks incredulously.

“N-No-- not really, at least not all of it,” Chunyang hurriedly clarifies. “Uh, don’t be mad when I say this--”

“Say what?”

“Just promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Yangyang, you’re worrying me,” Wenhan says, sighing, “but I promise, I won’t be mad. Unless it’s something really really bad.”

“It’s not really really bad. At least, I don’t think it is. Um…” Chunyang fumbles around for a moment, sifting through his pages until he finds the one he’s looking for. He hands it to Wenhan who looks at it curiously.

The first thing Wenhan sees is his own name in his own handwriting at the top right corner of the page. The rest of the page consists of a music score with sloppily scrawled music notes and lyrics that’d been crossed out multiple times. It looks like a general mess of pencil lead and blue ballpoint pen marks, but if he looks carefully, he can make out the little notes written in the page margins and in between score lines.

“Wait…” Wenhan murmurs in shock, “this is-- how’d you get this?”

“Yixuan-ge gave it to me,” Chunyang says, purposely avoiding Wenhan’s eye. “He said this is his favorite unfinished project of yours.”

“But why would you want one of my unfinished songs?” Wenhan’s eyes are wide. He hadn’t seen these papers in so long, and the memories of him spending hours at a time locked up in his room working on them come flooding back to him.

“I wanted to complete one,” Chunyang answers, simply.

Wenhan slowly raises his head. His head is spinning, thinking. Why would Chunyang have suddenly developed the desire to write his own music? Wenhan even aware that sometimes Chunyang had trouble reading music, and Wenhan had been helping him along the way. He really just thought it was company training, because after all, he had to go through that process himself too.

But moments later, the realization hits him hard. Sure, combining school and training is difficult, but it hasn't been up until recently that Wenhan noticed that Chunyang has been a bit more agitated about his academics. “You chose music composition, didn’t you,” Wenhan whispers. It’s worded like a question, but it isn’t.

“Yeah,” Chunyang responds, his voice equally as quiet. “I didn’t know anything about making music, so I decided I wanted to learn.” When Wenhan remains silent and still, Chunyang quickly adds, a bit panicked, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“N-No, I don’t… I don’t mind at all.” The shock is receding slowly, and Wenhan’s hands gradually stop shaking. “Can I see the other pages?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Wenhan flips through them, studying each one carefully. There’s even more scratches and stray marks on the pages Chunyang obviously worked on. On one page, a spot had been erased and rewritten and erased so often that it’d completely worn through the paper. Wenhan can't even imagine how many hours Chunyang took to finish the piece, the effort and the thought processes he put in showcased so obviously on the pages.

“I can’t believe this,” Wenhan whispers, and the biggest smile he’s had in so long is stretching across his face, the warmth budding in his chest at such a gesture from Chunyang. “Thank you, Yangyang, you worked so hard on this, I can’t believe-- I just--”

“It’s not the best work,” Chunyang says, embarrassed, “it’s kind of bad, actually, since I’m still new to this, but I tried--” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

“And that’s all that matters. You tried and you did it, you finished a song.” Wenhan laughs, the sound loud and clear, and it’s the widest laugh he’s laughed in so long. Before he knows it, Chunyang is pulling him into an embrace, and he eagerly returns it, squeezing Chunyang tightly and giggling into his shoulder. “Thank you, thank y--”

“Stop saying ‘thank you’,” Chunyang whispers. He sneezes once because Wenhan's hair is tickling his nose, and Wenhan can't stop laughing.

Wenhan pulls back, hands making their way to Chunyang’s shoulders. He's states at Chunyang with a stupidly proud grin on his face, completely silent but his expression says everything. His hands move even further up to Chunyang’s jaw, palms cradling Chunyang's face, and he leans forward, looking Chunyang in the eye. Their foreheads touch, and Wenhan is smiling with all of his features, hoping Chunyang can sense what he feels through the glimmer in his eyes and the curl of his lips and the crinkle of his nose.

“You’re great, Yangyang. Really, you’re-- you’re amazing.”

“Oh,” Chunyang murmurs, and a smile is making a way onto his face too, plenty of embarrassment in his expression, but he’s nonetheless flattered. “Thank you, Han-ge.” His voice is soft, just like it was when he began to sing, but this kind of softness isn't because he's unsure. Chunyang rarely raises his voice, but it's not out of lack of confidence but more so some shyness and humbleness. Wenhan likes that quality about him, and he thinks about that softness and warmth at times like this.

They stay like that for several long seconds, staring at each other smiling stupidly before Chunyang falls backwards in laughter.

* * *

He is in Tianjin now, this time all by himself. For some reason, this trip feels lonelier to him than usual. There’s always a lingering feeling of loneliness for Wenhan whenever he travels alone, but today he feels it magnified, muddling his thoughts and sitting heavy in his gut like a stone.

Of course, there is a staff member always with him. Even if there is technically another person, and going by technicalities he isn’t “alone”, that doesn’t mean that he isn’t alone in other aspects.

Wenhan thinks a lot about the others when he’s walking down the street. He thinks about Yibo and how he’s probably the happiest out of all of them right now. To Wenhan, that’s not a bad thing. He’s not jealous or bitter. He just remembers seeing Yibo dance and that silly smile that comes onto his face whenever he finishes a choreography, and it makes Wenhan himself smile too. That’s what Yibo is skilled at, and it’s what naturally comes to him. He can make people laugh without saying anything, and right now, the company is capitalizing on that.

It’s been a long time since Wenhan has seen Sungjoo and Seungyeon as well. Can he even speak Korean still? He tries to recall some words in his head, and both their sound in his mind and their taste in his mouth are foreign and strange. The only thing he can fully recall at the moment is surprisingly his self-introduction he wrote years and years ago. The characters pop in his head as he reads the words in his mind, ingrained in his subconscious from the numerous amount of times he wrote them and spoke them.

He’s passing by a row of stores with nothing in particular on his mind when a display through a store window catches his eye and causes him to stop in his step. What he’s standing in front of right now is a convenience store. He can see the rows and rows of candy bars and snacks through the glass, and in the very left corner of the window, there is a rotating display of sunglasses and hair accessories.

That’s what caused Wenhan to stop. He’s not quite sure if he saw things correctly, so he walks through the store’s sliding doors anyway to take a closer look. The employee at the counter greets him cheerily, but he’s too distracted to return her anything but an absent-minded “hello”.

Sure enough, his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him, and the little clip he pulls off of the display is exactly what he thought he saw. It’s a wooden clip with shiny varnishing and a white orchid glued on top, almost exactly like the one Chunyang chose when they were in Shanghai, just a smaller version.

Wenhan feels the petals between his index finger and thumb. They’re velvety and a bit rough towards the flower’s center, which is completely covered in rhinestones, a bit different from the other flower. It’s still pretty nonetheless.

Today, Wenhan walks back to the hotel with a hair clip and a receipt tucked into one pocket. On his way back, when he is thinking about the others, he subconsciously rubs a petal between his index finger and thumb. The action makes his thoughts a little bit less lonely.

* * *

Wenhan feels stupid and silly and embarrassed when it comes out of his mouth. “I bought something for you,” he says, and that part sounds alright, but what comes after that makes him wince. “It’s a hair clip.”

Chunyang looks extremely confused. “If you wanted me to cut my hair, you could’ve just told me,” he replies. Wenhan almost gets offended that Chunyang’s automatic reaction was just to assume that Wenhan had some ulterior motive other than the fact that Chunyang just happened to be on his mind at a random moment of the day where he also coincidentally was passing by a display of hair accessories -- all in all, it does sound silly and a bit excuse-like, but it’s the truth.

“No, that’s not it…” Wenhan says, weakly, feeling the heat rush to his face. He pulls out the clip from the little plastic baggy he’s holding. “It looks like the one you picked up when we were in Shanghai, doesn’t it?”

“I.. guess.” Chunyang takes it in his hand, staring closely at it in his palm. “It does. You didn’t have to buy it for me. I was just joking when I said ‘next time’, you know.”

“Oh.” Wenhan feels even more silly, and he almost just wants to take the clip back and get up and walk away and pretend the conversation never happened. “It doesn’t matter, I already bought it. Take it.”

Chunyang blinks back at him, silent. He swallows, licking his lips before he speaks again. “Oh, then... Thank you,” he says, the hand holding the clip dropping into his lap.

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Wenhan shuts his mouth. He swears he was going to say something after ‘you’re welcome’, but the words in his mind are lost. Pursing his lips into a thin line, he stares oddly at Chunyang, desperately trying to search for things to say. To Chunyang, it looks like Wenhan is staring at him anxiously for no apparent reason. It’s awkward to say the least, because it makes Chunyang feel like he should be doing to saying something at the moment, but he doesn’t know what Wenhan expects out of him.

If Wenhan actually is nervous, he doesn’t want him to feel that way. Wenhan shouldn’t be nervous giving something like a hair clip to Chunyang. It’s not a big deal.

Without even thinking, Chunyang suddenly grabs Wenhan’s wrist. Wenhan’s eyes widen for a moment, but they return to their normal size almost immediately. Chunyang holds their hands together, slotting their fingers up against each other. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. It’s like they both have a mental block at that moment. Chunyang can only croak out, “T-Thank you. Really.”

Wenhan looks surprised Chunyang is thanking him again. He blinks several times, as if trying to clear his mind by doing so, and squeezes Chunyang’s hand. “You said ‘next time’,” he begins, “so now is ‘next time’.”

“You’re right.” A smile automatically appears on Chunyang’s lips, and he’s squeezing Wenhan’s hand back so tightly that Wenhan thinks he’ll lose circulation very soon.

* * *

The first time Wenhan ever comes up with the notion that perhaps there is something wrong--well, maybe not _wrong,_ but certainly different--is when they’re at the pier together, standing at the topmost level that slightly overhangs the East China Sea. The runway for incoming cargo sits right beneath them, but it’s empty save for a couple of dumpsters. It’s a Sunday, and there is no one here but them and tourists. There’s a group of kids, probably high school or middle schoolers, laughing as they sit in a circle on the benches and point out things they see in the sea through the pier’s scopes.

This weekend they’re here as a collective group minus Yibo. It’s just a little fun to distract themselves. Yixuan and Wenxuan had wandered back down to the ground level to look at the concession stands and buy some food. There’s probably nothing but disgusting street food, but it sure smells good judging by what's wafted up to the top level.

It’s nearly sunset, and the sky is just beginning to turn a warmer color than blue-gray. For now, it’s just Wenhan and Chunyang tucked into a corner of the pier’s top level, away from the rambunctious kids and the families and couples milling around the area. With the incoming evening, the wind had also begun to blow. The day was rather warm so Wenhan didn’t bring anything thicker than a thin windbreaker, which is a decision he regrets. He’s trying his best not to visibly shiver, but the goosebumps climbing up the back of his neck are a clear giveaway.

“You cold?” Chunyang asks, looking Wenhan up and down for a moment.

“A bit,” Wenhan replies, faking a smile that looks more like a grimace. His teeth clatter a bit, and he inwardly cringes at the noise.

“Dumb Han-ge,” Chunyang mutters softly, jokingly, with a catlike smile.

“What was that?” Wenhan growls, face scrunching up even more as a reaction to the cold and Chunyang’s words.

Chunyang shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” An excuse. “Come here.” Wenhan can’t move. He’s too frozen, and the only thing he does is teeter back and forth. But Chunyang’s still functioning enough to sidle up to Wenhan and press his chest against Wenhan’s side, hugging Wenhan and resting his chin on Wenhan’s shoulder.

Wenhan turns his head and tilts his chin down to stare at Chunyang. Chunyang is looking out to the sea, bits of golden light from the sky reflecting in his pupils. If they were closer to the sea, perhaps Wenhan could see the water ripples in Chunyang’s eyes too. But right now, it feels like they’re closer to the sky, with the wind flying around them and the mix of warm gold and orange and cool blue and gray cradling their vision.

This is when Wenhan thinks--and feels--there is something different, because the thought pops into his head that maybe he could kiss Chunyang right now, and it’d be an exact rendition of a sunset scene for some cheesy paperback romance novel.

He’s close enough to Chunyang right now to do that. Is he tempted? The thought enters his mind and leaves too quick for him to fully comprehend what he feels.

He looks away, and Chunyang is curling his fingers over the backs of Wenhan’s hands. “You’re like an ice block,” Chunyang comments.

“You’re cold too,” Wenhan responds. A particularly bitter gust of wind hits his back, and a shiver runs up his spine, causing his body to shake for just a moment.

“Not as cold as you, though.” Chunyang sighs, his hands closing in on the backs of Wenhan’s hands, gripping them tightly and pulling Wenhan closer to him. He shifts his position and the scraping noise of the nylon and polyester of his jacket, although harsh, disappears with the cawing of the birds over the water.

“The sun’s right there, but it’s so useless,” Wenhan mutters under his breath. He clenches his teeth. “Why is it so damn cold? And why are Yixuan and Wenxuan taking so long?”

“Why are you complaining so much?” Chunyang sniffs, as if offended.

“Because you called me ‘dumb’ and so now I’m angry about that,” Wenhan retorts.

“Your ears must be broken, because I did not call you ‘dumb’,” Chunyang responds immediately. He pouts, sticking his face right up to Wenhan’s cheek. “You’re just grumpy because you’re cold and hungry.”

Wenhan side-eyes him. Chunyang is so close that Wenhan almost goes cross-eyed for a moment trying to look at him, and in the bottom of his vision he can see the tip of his own nose. He closes his eyes, resting his vision for a moment, and when he opens them, Chunyang is still looking at him like that with an unnamed expression.

The thought comes back to him that he could kiss Chunyang like this, but just like earlier, the thought is fleeting. It’s gone even before Wenhan can fully comprehend anything, and instead he is left staring blankly, the tip of his nose warm from puffs of Chunyang’s breath.

He swallows, his mouth suddenly running dry. His lips part slightly, as if he were about to say something, but the moment is interrupted by a shout.

“Hey!”

Both Chunyang and Wenhan suddenly turn their heads. Wenxuan is waving at them, kebabs in one hand and a bag of cotton candy in the other. Yixuan, standing next to him, has paper boats of fries in both hands.

“Food,” Wenhan croaks out weakly. The scent of fries hits his nose, and suddenly his stomach is growling.

“Yes, food,” Chunyang laughs, and he lets go of Wenhan except for one hand. “Come on,” he says, tugging lightly, and Wenhan swears he feels one of his knees click as he stumbles after Chunyang.

* * *

The next time that feeling comes back to him is when he is laying in bed and reading a book. Chunyang had come to him earlier that night seeking homework help. Wenhan thought putting aside Agatha Christie for a while wasn’t a bad idea, but that was an hour ago, and Chunyang is now back to laying on his stomach, chin propped up by his palms, and looking like he’s in the middle of silently growling at his papers. He swings his legs back and forth sometimes, and several times he nearly hits Wenhan with a foot. Wenhan just swats at him and Chunyang’s feet will still for five minutes before he goes back to swinging them again.

Sometimes Wenhan will look up from his book and see Chunyang in the exact same position, still mulling over his papers. Depending on the angle that Wenhan tilts his head, the rhinestones on the hair clip Chunyang is wearing will sparkle differently. Chunyang decided to use it to clip up his bangs even though it’s not very efficient at doing its job. It’s too small to hold all of his hair, so some stray strands near his temples have fallen down. At least it doesn’t obscure his vision too badly.

Wenhan turns back to his book. He’s lost his place, but quickly recovers his spot after skimming three-quarters down a page before continuing reading. He doesn’t put down the book until he’s reached the end of the novel, and by the time he’s set it down on his nightstand and turned back around, Chunyang has fallen asleep face-first onto his homework.

Wenhan gets up and carefully moves Chunyang’s head and arms, making sure not to disturb him while he gently collects the papers and pen and sets them down on the nightstand. For a moment, he contemplates waking Chunyang up. Chunyang should return to his own dorm, or at the very least, not be sleeping with his head where the feet normally go.

“Chunyang,” Wenhan whispers, leaning down and placing a hand on Chunyang’s shoulder. “Yangyang.” Wenhan has to shake Chunyang’s shoulder a bit to get Chunyang to sleepily crack open an eye.

“Han...ge?” Chunyang croaks, squinting at Wenhan. The light in the room, even though it’s dim, probably hurts his vision.

“Move,” Wenhan says softly. “Your feet are almost on the pillow. You can go back to sleep afterwards.”

“Oh,” Chunyang murmurs. He pushes himself up from the mattress and slowly rearranges his position. Wenhan lifts the covers for him, letting him slip underneath them. He makes sure to tuck the blankets over Chunyang’s shoulders before he heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he returns, Chunyang is already back in deep sleep. Wenhan can hear Chunyang’s breathing just by kneeling at the bedside. Chunyang isn’t quite snoring, but his breaths are noisy, kind of wheeze-like, probably influenced by a cold he recently recovered from.

Wenhan stares at Chunyang and thinks that this is the first time in a long time he has seen Chunyang completely and utterly relaxed without a single line of exhaustion or worry or stress etched into his features. It makes Wenhan relax slightly, letting his actions and thoughts let loose. Without knowing, he begins to stroke Chunyang’s cheek softly, gently, lightly, watching his knuckle run over Chunyang’s skin. He leans in, and their faces are so close that he can feel Chunyang’s breath. Wenhan could kiss Chunyang now and no one else would ever know, not even Chunyang himself. It could become Wenhan’s little secret, but the last thing Wenhan wants is another thing bottled up in him.

Wenhan sighs and presses his lips to Chunyang’s forehead. “Good night,” he murmurs against Chunyang’s skin, his voice barely louder than his breath. “Sleep well.”

He climbs into bed and goes to sleep not too long after. Sometime in the middle of the night, he is slightly woken by Chunyang lacing their fingers together beneath the covers, but he is too groggy and falls back asleep a moment later.

* * *

Wenhan knows that for sure there is something different when someone like Yixuan finds them sleeping in on a summery Saturday morning with their hands stuck under each other’s shirts, legs tangled together, and the sheets kicked to a pile at the foot of the bed.

Yixuan thinks it’s a good idea to take photos as blackmail material for the future, but forgets to turn off his shutter, so Wenhan wakes up from the noise.

“Hey,” Wenhan growls, lowly, rapidly blinking the sleep from his eyes as fast as he possibly can. “For the love of god, Yixuan--”

“Ignore him, go back to sleep,” Chunyang interrupts, grabbing onto the hem of Wenhan’s t-shirt and tugging. His eyes are still closed, but his brows are furrowed, clearly demonstrating his annoyance.

“He’s right,” Yixuan laughs. “Go back to sleep. I’ll make you two breakfast when you wake up.” Yixuan doesn’t even need an answer. He just disappears out the bedroom door like he assumes Wenhan agrees with him.

Well, Wenhan doesn’t, but he’s convinced by Chunyang’s lazy and clumsy fingers scratching at his torso like some housecat deprived of attention. Chunyang's eyes are half-lidded, sleepy, relaxed, and content with Yixuan’s disappearance.

“Okay,” Wenhan whispers after a second of contemplation.

A small smile appears on Chunyang’s face as he hums happily and closes his eyes. Wenhan gets thought that again while staring at the dark of Chunyang’s eyelashes stark against his skin, fanning out over the sallow color of the bags beneath his eyes. It makes Wenhan hurt a bit to see that, but for the time being, when Chunyang gets to hold Wenhan close to him and pretend it’s just them two in their own little world, Wenhan’s thoughts calm.

Maybe it’s because Chunyang can’t notice Wenhan looking at him and thinking right now, so Wenhan doesn’t have the subconscious need to sweep it out of his mind, but the thought comes to him again--that he could kiss Chunyang just like this--and it lingers.

There’s so many planes on Chunyang’s face that Wenhan could kiss. It doesn’t have to be Chunyang’s lips, but it could be his cheek, his temple, his nose, his jaw -- and that’s what Wenhan wants to do right now, that’s all he’s thinking about right now. He could just lean his head in a bit more and his lips would touch Chunyang’s nose, and if he tilted his head down too, he could kiss Chunyang’s lips.

He almost does, actually, just a hair’s breadth away, but freezes, unable to make the last minute movement, and instead he just presses his forehead against Chunyang’s. Closing his eyes, Wenhan feels Chunyang’s breath fan against his lips, and that’s enough of a kiss for him.

* * *

 _He’ll become much more physically affectionate. I guess it’s his way of opening up since he doesn’t like to talk a lot._ Wenhan’s own words echo in his head when he makes his way up those shiny white steps and sees Chunyang grinning down at him.

In the moment right before they embrace, their gazes connect and hold and suddenly Wenhan is overcome with all the sensations he associates with Chunyang, from the velvet petals of that flower hair clip to the sounds of the city traffic, the colors of a gray sky, and the scent of the salted sea breeze.

When Chunyang leans forward, puts his chin on Wenhan’s shoulder, and whispers, “Congratulations, Han-ge,” Wenhan swears he can hear much more than that. He can hear Chunyang whispering, “Dumb Han-ge.” He can hear Chunyang complaining, “Very unhelpful, Han-ge.” He can hear Chunyang murmuring, “Don’t laugh at me, Han-ge.” He can hear Chunyang laughing, “Thank you, Han-ge.”

It’s a lot to take in, and Wenhan almost forgets where he is and what he’s doing, unable to think over the roar of the fans below him and the blinding lights of the stage. But he’s brought back to reality when him and Chunyang pull apart, and Chunyang looks at him with an expression that Wenhan has seen many times before but could never name. It hits him, right at that moment, that he doesn’t need to put a name to the expression, or even to his own emotions in fact, because whatever he feels, Chunyang feels it too, loud and clear.

Chunyang is sending him away the next moment, but that one glance was enough for the both of them.

In fact, it was more than enough for Wenhan, and that confirmation along with the fulfilled promise that he can once again do what he loves makes him break down later that night, collapsing onto the carpet and sobbing into his palms while Chunyang holds him and whispers, “I'm so proud your dream came true.”

Little does Chunyang know, he's become a part of that dream.


End file.
